


One Terrific Guy

by lily rose (annabeth)



Category: One Terrific Guy (1986)
Genre: Anal, Dubious Consent, Explicit Sex, F/M, Homosexual Thoughts, Rape, Teacher-Student Relationship, Underage - Freeform, a teacher taking advantage of a minor, unprotected sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-05
Updated: 2018-09-05
Packaged: 2019-07-07 11:54:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15907758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annabeth/pseuds/lily%20rose
Summary: This is fic for an old TV movie and no one is going to read it anyway but: Charlie Brennan, the coach for the hot shot baseball team at his high school, takes advantage (graphically) of a female student.





	One Terrific Guy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shadesofhades](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadesofhades/gifts).



> Don't read this. Lol. I'm definitely a terrible person? But I blame Wayne Rogers (of M*A*S*H fame) who could apparently make anything hot...
> 
> I wrote this as sort of reverse fix-it fic for my best friend. Mwahaha. Blame her.

Everyone thought Charlie Brennan was a great guy. Terrific coach, swell to talk to, easy as Southern comfort. Everyone saw him as approachable, kind, honest.

Only Charlie knew the truth—and he wasn't going to tell anyone.

The problem, though, was that as the years went on, high school girls got more savvy to his tricks. He'd tried the dissertation/research speech on a few and they'd given him horrified looks, leading him to believe he'd have to be more canny, more sneaky.

Besides, Charlie didn't want anyone to wise up to who he really was: including himself, if he were perfectly honest. Good, genial, generally decent coaches could be hard to come by, and Charlie was of the opinion that he was one of the good guys, never mind his extracurricular activities.

"Are you sure this is okay, Coach?" Carrie asked, even as she unbuttoned her sweater. Her crisp white blouse underneath was pleasingly tight, clinging to the boyish chest he was so fond of. She had short, dark hair, and he liked to look at her and just… _pretend._

"It's fine," he told her, saliva filling his mouth. How could he—what should he say? "You're very special, Carrie. None of the other girls can even come close to you." He slouched behind his desk, concealing his erection.

"Mark might mind?" she said, as if unsure whether it was true, and Charlie had to suppress a smile. He had her eating right out of his hand—she was expecting to trust his judgment.

"I promise you, it will be fine. No one is going to know, anyway. Listen, Carrie, if you love Mark, you'll let me show you what to do." His eyebrow twitched a little as he imagined her turning around and letting him show her all the different ways they could do it.

"This is still for your research?" she asked, and Charlie gave her the grin that so many students loved—and trusted.

"Of course. Would I lie to you? Besides, you do want it to be good the first time you have sex, don't you? Otherwise Mark might be disappointed in you. He could even decide to leave you for someone more experienced."

"You don't think he'd want a virgin?" Carrie asked, and Charlie sighed inwardly, He was going to have to step up his game.

"No one really _wants_ a virgin, Carrie. It's a chore to dispose of it. But part of my research with you in particular has to be how you respond to things… the first time. Besides, Mark will be grateful. He won't even have to worry about hurting you. Now, since you don't have the diaphragm yet, I'll have to start with something that you can't get pregnant from."

She gave him a nervous little smile, and Charlie stood up, hoping his erection wasn't too noticeable. He gestured to her skirt, and she began to unpin the side, letting it drop to the floor.

God, of all his girls this year, she was the easiest—and the best, with her slightly more masculine features, lanky height, and short hair. He had others like her, but they weren't perfect.

He was going to enjoy this, even if he'd told her deflowering virgins was a chore. It could be—but he also liked the idea of them being unspoiled, ripe, fresh. And most of his other girls had already had boyfriends and done it with them, a fact he disapproved of privately, if only because it meant there was no sport in getting them to go all the way.

"How?" she asked, and oh, so innocent. He liked them innocent. It was really too bad it had taken him two years to butter her up to this point. She hadn't been ready before, when she was younger, which was her only real detraction. It was better with the fifteen year olds.

"It just so happens that a woman has two holes a man can put his penis in," he said, steering clear of words that might be too harsh for her tender ears. "It's perfectly natural to do it both ways," he added, lest she get nervous again. She had just begun to relax, after all.

"Look, Coach," Carrie said, and he wished her voice weren't so high, "I'm only doing this for your research. I like you, and I want you to do well on your dissertation. But this does seem a little… beyond your scope, don't you think?"

Oh, damn. She was down to bra and panties already and he was losing her. He walked right over to her, smoothed some of her short hair out of the way, and gently caressed her neck.

"But I'm a man. Mark is still just a boy. I know what I'm doing; he doesn't, not really. Let me show you what to do, and you'll be my best student. I just know that if you do this my dissertation will be the best that it can be."

Carrie shivered, and Charlie reached around her slender back and quickly unhooked her bra. Her breasts were small, a fact that they had already quantitatively measured, and he liked it that way. If he could have one thing, it would be that his baseball team didn't need to trust him so much.

The MVP of the team that year was Carrie's boyfriend, and if Charlie let himself think about it, for just a second, he'd really rather be doing this with someone else. Did Carrie have to know they both wanted to sleep with the same person?

Her hands almost covered herself, but Charlie had taught her well: she was used to his eyes on her by now. Sadly, he had more of a thirst for muscular chests than feminine ones, though either would do in a pinch.

"Slide your panties down, Carrie," he said, and slipped his hand down the back of them. "Slowly, but remember, we don't have much time."

He parted her cheeks with his fingers and skimmed her crack till he came to her hole, which he circled with his thumb. Carrie bucked, and jerked back, but he wrapped an arm around her and held her tightly in place.

The time for gentleness, for coaxing, was over.

She wriggled a little, wordlessly protesting his hold, but he just squeezed until she gasped and let up, and then he felt the panties drop away and leave cool air on his hand and her ass.

"Relax," he said, because it would be impossible to get inside if she didn't. "This is what I meant. You can't get pregnant this way, but you will learn what to do when Mark wants to do it backdoor. And he will. All teenage boys do." _And I do, too, but not for the same reason,_ he thought silently.

"But—"

"You won't mind," he added. He grabbed the lube out of his pocket, where he'd stashed it earlier while she was hesitating over whether to go along with him or not. "And when you get your diaphragm, I'll show you the other way, too."

But he didn't really care at this point if she was altogether willing. It would be nice if she was, and easier—but he didn't need her to be. He was still a good guy. A coach looking out for her best interests, and if she couldn't appreciate that, well, that was too bad, but not his problem.

He lubed up his fingers and rubbed her again, then, as he nudged his index finger against her tightly clenched hole, he said,

"Breathe in, then out, and relax everywhere. It won't go in if you don't."

He could see her wavering, trying to decide whether she really _wanted_ it to go in, but at length she did as instructed, and his finger pierced her. It must have hurt, because her body went stiff and straight like a pole all over. He soothed her by kissing her neck, stepping so that he was behind her, and pushing her towards the desk, one arm still an iron band around her stomach.

When she went to the desk, he pushed her head down. Not too hard, but enough for her to get the idea, and she leant awkwardly over the wooden surface. Her small breasts rubbed against it.

"Doesn't that feel good," he asked, "to have your nipples touching something?"

"Coach Brennan," she said, "this is very—" but she didn't finish, because he had already opened his fly, prepared himself, and shoved into her. She let out a squeak and was silent for a long moment as he held still.

He knew he was much larger than average men, that his cock, when hard, was altogether literally too much for a woman to take all at once in her pussy. But this was her ass—she was hanging onto the edge of the desk, her body flushed, and she felt like a vise around him, she was so tense. He shouldn't be hurting her.

"Coach," she said, finally, her voice reedy, "that hurts."

"Well, it's because you're not relaxing like I told you to," he said reasonably. "Just a little more, okay, pet?"

The nickname might have been a touch too far, but it seemed to work; Carrie went limp in his arms. She was breathing raggedly, and he got the feeling it still hurt. Well… too bad. He wanted to get off. He was going to fuck this little bitch until he did, whether she liked it or not—what did he care if she derived any actual pleasure?

The point was, he could do whatever he wanted, and still be a terrific guy. The time to coddle her was over too.

"It really hurts," she whimpered as he jammed the last few inches in. He adjusted his grip on her waist and began to thrust, shallowly at first. "Coach, are you sure this is all right? I didn't think it would hurt—"

"What are you going to do about it, Carrie?" he asked, as he rammed into her more forcefully, feeling precome leak from the slit of his cock. "Tell someone? That you let me do this?"

"Maybe I should…" she said uncertainly, and Charlie regretted for a moment that he'd been rough, but he really just wanted to get off before someone came looking for him. He might not look so terrific from this angle.

"But you let me, didn't you, Carrie? You had all these reasons for letting me. You gonna turn tail on the project now? Get everyone all upset and jealous? Over a little pain? It's natural. It will be easier when it's Mark, and it will be because I showed you what to do."

Carrie trembled beneath him. He knew she wouldn't say anything. Not now. She might not like it, but she still believed in what he told her.

"O-okay," she said tremulously, and he pumped in and out, as hard as he wanted, with no concerns whatsoever. Her slim body tightened around him, and she felt so silky and soft inside—he was getting close.

He lowered the arm that was around her belly so that he could reach her clit, and half-heartedly rubbed her a little, until she was panting, her body becoming slick with sweat, and it wasn't his. He still had his shirt on.

Grabbing her bicep, he felt the muscles there from all the working out she did because _he_ suggested it, and imagined the taut, thick muscle of one of his players, gripping her hard as he pounded into her the last few times. He came in a rush: of endorphins, of spunk, of pleasure and satisfaction.

When he pulled out and let her go, she was shaky when she stood up, but she turned around and smiled at him.

"Thank you," she said, and Charlie beamed at her. Of course, she should be grateful, but it was nice to hear it.

"Have a nice trip home, Carrie," he said.

He knew she wouldn't say anything.

And she didn't. He showed her how to insert the diaphragm, and he fucked her the other way too. And then she graduated, and he was sorry to see her go—but a crop of brand-new freshman came into the school, and one of them was thin like a reed, with short, cropped dark hair, and an affinity for softball.

He knew he'd have her soon enough.

END.


End file.
